Where the Light Enters
by tricksysauce
Summary: Prim grabs my chin and jerks my head up, forcing me to look at her. "Katniss! Peeta saved you so you could end this war! You need to go! You need to kill Snow!" (Mockingjay AU. Prim survives. The war ends. The many victors of the Rebellion find themselves navigating another type of Victory Tour. Eventual Katniss/Peeta)
1. Chapter 1

_The wound is the place where the Light enters you.  
_Rumi

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First, I get a glimpse of the blond braid down her back. Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child, I notice the ducktail formed by her shirt. My body reacts of its own accord; my instincts are pushing me forward, powering over bodies, limbs, and rubble. I am five feet away from her when I finally find my voice, reaching out and screaming: "Prim!"

My little sister whips around, shock and relief registering on her face. In spite of the chaos that surrounds us, the utter destruction, Prim manages a smile and she crosses the few feet remaining to me. "Katniss," she cries and collapses into my arms.

A moment later, fifty yards from us, another parachute explodes. We are blown backwards, off our feet. I hear a second detonation, then a third and I think: _This is where I die_. I tighten my arms around Prim and close my eyes, holding fast to my sister.

But I do not die.

Something heavy lands on top of me and Prim; it's a body, warm and protective, covering us from harm. Around our little human pile, everything shatters.

I can't say how long the explosions last but, finally, the ground stops shaking. My ears are ringing and I open my eyes to see that I have retained all my fingers. I feel Prim next to me, breathing. Alive.

I push my hands into the torn ground and press up, feeling the body on top of us shift and fall to the ground, lifeless. I blink the soot out of my eyes; my hands reach out and grasp Prim's shoulders. She opens her eyes and for a beat, we stare at each other. I watch Prim's mouth move and realize I cannot catch a thing she is saying – the explosions have ruined my hearing.

It is then that I notice the body lying next to us. He is facedown, but I can tell immediately that he is near death. His back is a ruin, all bleeding gashes and imbedded debris. He has taken the brunt of the bombs' impact, likely saving my life or Prim's or both. My eyes don't need to flick upward to know who it is, don't need to see the ashy blonde hair to confirm what I already know, what I, in truth, have known since I felt someone risk his life to save me.

It is Peeta.

It is Peeta, and he is not breathing.

I lose all sense then; in my madness, I am just another half-crazed mutt. I flip Peeta over and straddle him, attempting the resuscitation I saw Finnick use to save his life during the Quarter Quell. Peeta coughs blood in to my mouth, shudders, and lies still.

Delicate, firm hands push me off of Peeta's body. I rise to protest but find myself looking into Prim's serious, urgent eyes. "Katniss," she screams. "You have to go!"

Her words are fuzzy and indistinct, but I can hear them all the same.

"Katniss! You have to go! Don't you see? Peeta saved you so that you could end it."

I must have lost my mind, because I have no idea what she is talking about. I am concerned only with Peeta. My hands are running up and down his body, unable to stop the bleeding of the numerous wounds; my lips are murmuring his name over and over again.

Prim grabs my chin and jerks my head up, forcing me to look at her. "Katniss! Peeta saved you so you could end this war! You need to go! You need to kill Snow!"

I hear those last words clear as day and am finally shaken from my stupor. I look around, past Peeta, past Prim. The area in front of the President's Mansion is littered with bodies, some dead, some dying. Rebels and Peacekeepers alike are running about and exchanging fire.

It is chaos.

You couldn't ask for a better distraction.

The enormity of Peeta's actions hits me then. He saved me for a _purpose_. He saved me so that I could kill Snow: the man that has tortured him, the man that has hijacked his brain. Peeta saved me so that I could end the war. Peeta saved me, when, by all accounts, he should have been trying to kill me.

I grab my bow, finger my arrows and start off at a run towards the mansion. "Save Peeta," I throw to Prim over my shoulder, my voice breaking, but she doesn't need to be told. She is already busy at work, little fingers flying over his unconscious form. Something in my body sinks; conventional wisdom tells me it must be my heart.

My feet stumble, but only for a second. I tear my eyes away from Peeta and Prim and focus instead on my mission, on what may be the final culmination to the thought that has consumed me for years.

_I kill Snow._

The chaos of the numerous explosions has created the perfect diversion and, even though I am the Mockingjay, even though every face in Panem has been looking for me, looking at me, for months, I am able to get to the steps of the Mansion unnoticed. I climb the majestic stairs and reach the front door; I'm ready to barge in, but I hesitate. It's been too easy. I whirl around, bow armed, sure I will find an army of Peacekeepers at my back.

But I am alone.

I have been thinking that I am still part of a battle, that there is still a fight going on. But, as my eyes take in the scene of the President's lawn, I realize that I am no longer part of a battle.

I am part of a massacre.

Everywhere there are children screaming; body parts litter the square and there is so much blood that the ground is stained red. I am overwhelmed by the enormity of the death around me; it has permeated the ground, the air, the buildings. Somewhere, out there, Peacekeepers hold Gale. Prim, my baby sister, risks her life to save Peeta, who is basically dead. Finnick, Boggs, all the rest, already dead.

I sway on my feet and my stomach churns. The smell of blood in the air reminds me of roses and I lose what little is left in my stomach. The remembrance sickens me, but it grounds me just the same.

There is only one way to end this.

_I kill Snow._

I wipe off my mouth with the back of my hair, notch an arrow, and open the door.

.

The Mansion is empty. Empty, and silent.

My hearing is still off from the bombs, so I am certain to tread extra lightly. I blend in with the walls, moving quickly from doorway to doorway, but I encounter no one.

It smells of blood, even inside, and, driven by instinct, I follow the scent to its source, down a hall laden with heavy tapestries and thick carpets. It is silent here, still and untouched by the chaos reigning outside. My heart pounds in my chest; my footsteps creep, unheard, toward a pair of glass doors.

I know what lies behind them, even before I push through. The stench of blood is positively overwhelming now and bile rises in my throat. With effort, I swallow it down, aim my bow, and kick the doors open with my foot.

Row upon row of roses greets me. The air in here is humid and warm, artificial sunlight streaming from lamps in the ceiling. There are roses in every hue, from the most vibrant red to the palest, most delicate gold. The garden is alive with energy, blooming with life.

There is no sign of another human, but I am certain that I will find Snow here.

I pad down row after row, my bow taut and ready. My heart has found its way back from my throat; it pounds in my ears now. My eyes dart this way and that and I breathe in and out, ever so quietly.

I find him at the end of the very last row, bent over a particularly beautiful plant, scissors poised to snip a perfectly bloomed white rose from its branches.

I aim my arrow, ready to loose it, when he speaks. "Miss Everdeen," he says mildly. "I wondered when you would come."

Surprise stills my hand and my throat. I cannot say anything, cannot move. His voice has frozen me.

President Snow snips the rose and turns to me, tucking the flower into his left breast pocket. Right above his heart. He pulls his puffy lips back in what would be a smile. "It is bad out there," he continues, a statement, not a question. "I am just preparing to surrender."

My mind races; I hold my bow higher. "What do you mean, surrender?" I ask. I try to sound intimidating, in control, but in truth, his words disarm me.

"I am prepared to declare that the war is lost," Snow continues, looking at me levelly. "The Capitol's supplies have dwindled, its people are terrified. Our armed forces are decimated."

He pauses and I watch him. I am not breathing.

"And, of course, how can we continue, since the Rebels have bombed our children." At that he falls silent, his gaze on me expectant, smiling. Little flecks of blood decorate his lips.

"What do you mean?" I demand. "The Rebels did not kill those children. You did. The bombs came from a Capitol hovercraft."

Snow laughs lightly. "Oh, dear girl, think. If I had a working hovercraft, I would be very far from this place. No, no, those bombs were a very clear, very calculated, very clever attempt to turn the last of my loyal citizens against me. Bombing the Capitol's own children; it is _particularly _deplorable. Alma Coin has never shied away from the deplorable, though. And now she has such great minds at her disposal, minds that are capable of creating such ingenious… _snares_."

I feel sick. My hands on my bow and arrow weaken, ever so slightly. "You're lying," I whisper, because I know what he's insinuating: that it was Alma Coin who planned to kill these children, the leader of the District we have all put our trust in. That it was her and her team, her team that includes my best friend in the entire world. He's insinuating that _Gale_ designed these bombs, killed these children.

"My dear Miss Everdeen, we agreed never to lie to each other," Snow says and he's laughing then, full spasms that shake his body and bring tears to his eyes, which never leave my face.

He's laughing even as I loose my arrow, spearing that last white rose right through his chest, directly onto his heart.

.

_Notes: I have always been perplexed by the question of what would happen if Prim survived the war, of just how far Coin would get in promoting a Capitol-like agenda if she been able. Who would Katniss choose, if her sister lived? Anyways, this story is my way of answering those questions. It will eventually be Katniss/Peeta… but it may take awhile to get there ;) The story is rated M for later chapters. I am aiming to update at least once a week._

_The first two sentences of this story are borrowed from __Mockingjay__ by Suzanne Collins, as are the characters and settings. _

_As always, I appreciate and look forward to every review._


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: This update took me a bit longer than expected. School started again and things got a litttttle crazy. I'm hoping to update every Friday from now on. This chapter sets up a lot; next we'll dive into the action!_

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The world is drowning in burning roses and I can only watch. They rain from the sky, perfect and lethal, covered in flames and stinking of death. The roses are black and they bury everyone I love. My mother goes first, then Cinna, Effie, Haymitch. My prep team. Gale and his whole family: Hazelle, Rory, Vick, little Posy. Prim, swallowed whole with a smile still playing on her lips, her shirt un-tucked.

And Peeta. The roses burn him longest and last. His eyes watch me while I shriek, while I bang on invisible glass with reddened hands, unable to reach him, to save him. His eyes are the last things I see and I can only scream: "Always," a final promise to the Boy with the Bread as the flames consume him.

I exist in a perpetual nightmare. The texture of the hallucination changes: sometimes they are burning, sometimes they are drowning, sometimes they are beaten. But they are always dying, those people that I love.

I can never protect them. I can only watch, my body, my soul stained with the blood of those I've killed. And the blood of those I cannot save.

.

Rough hands on my shoulders attempt to rouse me from sleep.

For once, I am really, truly dreaming. I am back home in District 12, in the Meadow. My father and I lie on our backs, watching the clouds. Prim chases Buttercup. Rue is there. She spreads her arms with the wind and sings. My father's voice joins her and I smile.

The hands are replaced by a slow, gentle burning in my veins. My heavy eyelids open.

I blink twice to clear the sleep from my eyes and my surroundings come into view. I am in a hospital bed in a vast, empty gray room. I am hooked up to several machines that are monitoring my heart rate. An IV drips clear liquid into my veins. My wrists are restrained, hooked to heavy steel bars on either side of the bed. It's my visitor, however, that causes me the most consternation.

President Coin stands on the right side of my bed, arms folded.

I open my mouth to talk and find that my throat is too dry to form words. I make a few rasping sounds before subsiding into silence.

President Coin lifts a small glass of water from my bedside table and hands it to me. "You collapsed after shooting President Snow. Rebel forces found you with extensive injuries in the garden. You have been asleep for one week," she says brusquely. "During that time, you underwent several surgeries. You had to be attached to a breathing tube until very recently, so the doctors say that it may be hard to speak for some time."

I sip the water slowly and nod. I hold the President's eyes for a moment and then push myself up to a seated position. The handcuffs make it difficult and I struggle against the limited range of motion.

"You caused the doctors quite a bit of trouble during your recovery, so they handcuffed you to the bed. Now that you are out of immediate danger, I see no reason that the cuffs should remain on." She removes a key from a small pocket in the front of her white jacket and unlocks the cuffs.

I sit up completely, stretching my arms and wrists appreciatively.

It is then that I notice the changes.

My body has struggled through numerous injuries over the past few years. But all trace of them is gone. My skin is new and soft. My scars have disappeared, erased by a mask of perfection. Frantically, my hands fly up to my face, touch my lips, my hair. The latter is full and long again, streaming out over my shoulders. Everywhere I can see, everywhere I can touch is flawless.

"What have you done to me?" I whisper. I am horrified. I have carried each and every scar as a reminder of the battles I have fought, of the lives that have been lost along the way.

It's like I have lost everything and everyone, all over again. The thought sends chills up and down my spine.

"We have remade you," President Coin says simply. She crosses her arms back across her chest. "You are the Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen. The war may be over, but there are still battles to fight."

I start to speak, but am overcome by memories. The stench of death suffocating the Capitol. Prim: tending to wounded children. Gale: dragged away by Peacekeepers. Peeta: bloodied and still.

President Snow: drowning in a pool of blood, the ghosts of his last smile still dancing on his lips.

"What happened?" I ask, though I am not sure I can trust anything she has said. I will be sure to get another account, as soon as I talk to someone else.

"The war is over. When you shot President Snow, the rest of the Capitol forces surrendered. In the chaos, I have assumed the mantle of leadership for all of Panem. Refugees from the war are returning home. We are looking to rebuild the country, stronger and more powerful than before." President Coin's cool gray eyes watch me carefully.

I don't say anything. She wants something, and I can guess what it is. She still needs me. She still needs the Mockingjay, that unequivocal symbol of freedom and justice. She needs me to help her put the country back together. I stare back at her, remember Snow's final warnings to not trust Coin. I set my jaw.

The silence stretches, breaks.

Coin stands up abruptly. "You are the Mockingjay, Miss Everdeen. Despite your resistance, you are the symbol of the rebellion. Our deal is not over; your job is not done. We must quell the remaining unrest. _You _must set hearts at ease."

"How?" I ask, despite myself. "What more can I do?"

"Plutarch is planning another Victory Tour. We will be traveling to all of the districts, introducing the new government and its officials. You will be part of that trip. We leave in the morning. Be prepared."

Without a second glance, Coin heads to the door.

"Wait!" I call. "What has happened to my family? To Prim? My mother? Gale? Peeta?"

She pauses and takes a deep breath. "They're… fine," she says, without looking back.

Then she leaves me alone.

.

After President Coin leaves, several teams of doctors come in and out of my room. They read the machines and poke my new skin. One provides me with a mirror.

The reflection I see when I dare to peer into the glass is unfamiliar. There are hints of Katniss Everdeen there, to be sure: in the curve of the chin, the shape of the eyes. I have braided back my hair, and the sensation of it off my neck makes me remember the feeling of the sun beating down on my neck.

But the woman in the glass is different. Her lips are fuller and redder. Her skin is immaculate; her cheekbones high. She is too overtly beautiful to be me.

All mutts are designed to make you feel something. Fear. Terror. Helplessness. I'm a new kind of mutt, more dangerous than all the rest. I'm designed to make you feel hope. I'm designed to make you trust. I'm designed to make you _believe_.

The door to my room enters, ushering in the stink of liquor. Haymitch pauses in the doorway, cocking his head side to side. "Well, look at you," he says finally.

I say nothing and Haymitch staggers over, pulling up a chair. His hair is greasy and his clothes stained with food and drink. His eyes trace my new face lazily. "Nice face, Sweetheart."

Rage fills me and I lunge towards him, hand raised. He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me closer. His breath stinks but his eyes are now clear and urgent. "Not here," he whispers. He shoves me back and says, louder, "Same old temper, I see."

I sag against the pillows, suddenly exhausted. "Haymitch," I say, my voice low. I feel incredibly defenseless, as if this new skin has left me naked and exposed. "Coin wants me to go on another Victory Tour."

"Oh, yeah. Whole gang's going. We've got the trains back and everything. I saw it to it they were well-stocked." He lifts an imaginary glass in salute.

"The whole gang?"

Haymitch nods. " They found Effie Trinket; she's coming. Your prep team. The Victors. Some commanders. Coin's bringing along everyone who can be considered a 'hero.' That _cousin_ of yours, for one. I hear he's going to be doing quite a lot of talking on the road."

"Gale's going?" I whisper. Suddenly, an image of Peeta, lying in blood, flashes before my eyes. "Haymitch… how is Peeta? Coin said everyone is fine, but I haven't seen anyone but you."

Haymitch pauses. He looks down, avoiding my eyes. "Your family's fine. Mom and sister are working in the hospital. Gale's fine, too. But the boy…" His voice trails off.

My pulse is pounding and my blood goes cold. "What happened? Haymitch! Tell me what happened to Peeta!" I shut my eyes tight, feeling Peeta's body, warm and heavy, protecting me from harm. His whispered promises run through my mind.

"He got banged up pretty bad," Haymitch says finally, eyes on his hands. "He's alive. But he hasn't woken up yet."

Relief floods my body, so overwhelming that I feel dizzy. "He's alive though, you said. He's alive."

"He's alive, yes," Haymitch says. "But they don't think he'll ever walk again."

.

_Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think :)_


	3. Chapter 3

I don't hear the footsteps until they are right outside my hiding place, which can only mean one thing: _Gale._

I sink farther back into the shadows of the cabinet, drawing my legs up to my chest and burying my head under my crossed arms. I have taken to finding small corners in which to hide. There are just too many things, too many people, happening outside. The plans for the Victory Tour are well underway and all of them revolve around the Mockingjay. There are a whole host of new costumes (created by a designer I've never met) and sets and scripts. Or so Haymitch tells me. I don't attend the meetings.

The task of finding me and forcing me to eat and speak every day has fallen on Prim and Haymitch. The former usually goads me out of my hole with a smile and a gentle word; Haymitch does the same with a tough yank on the wrist and a choice curse or two. They give me space, though. They don't find me until late afternoon usually. They seem to understand that I need to be alone.

Gale's presence is disconcerting. I can tell by the light streaming through the crack at the top of the cabinet that it's barely midday. Somebody (my guess is Coin) needs something immediate from me.

I hold my breath, stilling my body. I don't blink, hoping that he'll pass me by.

He doesn't.

The door to the cabinet flies open and I have to blink back the starry patchwork of light that temporarily blinds me. When I can see again, Gale's face hovers in front of mine. He is frowning.

I don't speak. If he came to find me, he can tell me why.

"Come on, Katniss," he sighs, holding on a hand out. I hesitate but take it anyways, letting him pull me into the world. His palm is calloused and warm, his skin familiar.

When I stand up, Gale pulls me to him in a firm hug, resting his chin on the top of my head. The action catches me by surprise; I hold my body taut in his arm.

"Catnip, what are you doing in there?" he asks, voice muffled by my hair. I can't be sure, but he sounds sad.

The world outside of that cabinet is changing quickly, new laws and decrees enacted every day. But that's not what I'm hiding from. I'm hiding from the things that are staying the same. The things that remind me far too much of what came before.

But Gale is part of both of those worlds; he's orchestrating the changes, affirming the similarities. I find that I can't say this to him, can't say anything at all. So, instead, I shrug my shoulders and bury my face in his chest. I inhale deeply. He still smells the same; I close my eyes and imagine we're in District 12, before any of this madness.

He seems to sense that I need this, so Gale just tightens his grip and we stand there, locked together, for several minutes. The light from the sun outside dances across our skin and I feel warm.

Gale breaks the silence. "Coin needs you."

I push myself out of his arms and pull my own up across my chest defensively. "Are you her messenger boy now?" I ask acidly. I avoid his eyes.

He barks out a laugh. "Yeah, right. They just know you won't come for anyone else but me."

Anger fills me and I think about slapping him. "Well, I'm glad we're such good _friends_ then," I say, glaring at him. "We wouldn't want Coin to get away with taking advantage of only one person from District 12."

I stride away from him, towards the Command Center where I'm sure Coin is waiting. Gale catches up to me in two easy bounds, grabbing my wrist and yanking me to face him. "What's your problem?" he says angrily. "Coin, Plutarch, all of them… they're trying to celebrate the victory. I don't understand why you can't…" He sighs.

I open my mouth to retort but the words fall away. Gale doesn't understand; he can't. He has killed men, yes, but he has never gotten to know them for days before. He has never formed alliances with would-be enemies; he has never had any rival spare him for compassion. His enemies are all faceless, or made up in the image of President Snow. They didn't live, they didn't breathe, they didn't have hopes and dreams before Gale killed them. Gale has killed soldiers, not tributes. Not people. For Gale, celebrating the Rebels' victory is an affirmation of all the death, all the destruction. Gale isn't haunted by nightmares of screaming children.

Gale has never participated in the Hunger Games. He has only watched. So how can he, then, know that they _are not over_?

It occurs to me then that I've entered an entirely new phase of fighting. The war is won; the Rebels are victorious. But the Games are still going. Only this time, no one really knows they're happening. The country, the Rebels… everyone is happy because the fighting is over. I know that it has barely begun.

I look down at my new skin, flawlessly designed, and remember President Snow's words: _Alma Coin has never shied away from the deplorable_. I look back at my best friend, who so wholeheartedly believes in Coin's agenda. I know that I need to tread carefully, gather more information about Coin and what she's doing. So, I bite back the anger that simmers just below my skin and I just nod at Gale. "Let's go," I say quickly, before I change my mind.

.

The Command Center is filled with familiar faces: Plutarch, Beetee, Fulvia, Haymitch, Coin. Commander Paylor, from District 8, is there, too. I don't smile at any of them, but I nod at Paylor. I remember her level head and authoritative good sense when we were under fire. I make a mental note to get to know what she thinks of Coin.

There are two empty seats on the left side of the table; I follow Gale and sit down next to him. The group was obviously talking right before we arrived, but they have been silent. All eyes are on me. I turn my gaze on Coin, staring her down. She doesn't seem particularly impressed.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Everdeen," she says coolly and then presses a button on the table. A large television screen emerges on the far wall. It is divided into fourteen small rectangles; each one shows what I assume to be the town square or city hall or generalized meeting place of the thirteen districts and the Capitol. I recognize them all from my first Victory Tour. Most have at least some semblance of activity happening: people mill about talking, or setting up structures. I note with a pang that District 12 is completely empty.

Plutarch stands then and crosses to the screen. He's smiling ear-to-ear, a Gamemaker with another event to plan. "We have an incredibly exciting opportunity," he says, eyes sparkling. "Everyone has heard of the Rebellion, of course, they've watched our propos. But now, we have the chance to define the _new _Panem. We are going to follow up the darkness of the war with a shining spectacle of light and hope."

Everyone is nodding along with Plutarch; Fulvia's eyes are actually moist. Only Haymitch doesn't look impressed. He's sipping from a silver flask. He tips it to me when he feels my eyes on him in a mock salute. Words echo through my head: _The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts…_

I go cold. My hands start to tremble and I focus all my energy on the slim bracelet that adorns my wrist, granting me access to the hospital wings. When I look, Coin is staring at me. I can't be sure, but I think that a ghost of a smile is dancing on her lips. Her gaze pierces me and I suddenly long for the safe confines of my cabinet hiding spots.

Then I think of Gale, sitting next to me. Of Haymitch, down the table. Of Prim and my mother, tending to the wounded somewhere in the hospital. Of Peeta, lying in a bed somewhere, fighting for his life. I think of all the people I love and I look back at Coin, another threat to their safety. To their happiness. And I feel that fire start to fill me again, that fire that drives me to protect everyone I hold so dear.

So I sit up a bit straighter and lace my trembling hands together in my lap. I stare down Coin and watch her face transform. Harden. She matches my stare, second for second.

The rest of the table must notice the tension because Plutarch comes around the table to grip my shoulders and shake me back and forth, trying to draw a smile to my face. "We think you'll be very excited about the direction we're going, Katniss. We have a lot of opportunities for the Mockingjay to really get people to _believe_ in the new Panem."

Haymitch snorts at that. "Good luck getting anyone to believe in _her_. She's never been any good at talking without…"

"Me."

A new voice stops us all. I whip my head, breath catching in my throat.

Peeta's framed in the doorway, a sad smile playing across his lips. His eyes catch mine briefly and then fall to his lap. Which is bound and still in a wheelchair.

.

**AN: Thank you, thank you for all of your kind reviews so far! I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter J Next chapter, Katniss and Peeta finally get to talk! Woo!**


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